


Ceasefire: Right & Wrong

by myscira



Series: Ceasefire [1]
Category: Young Justice
Genre: Spitfire - Freeform, Young Justice - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-20
Updated: 2013-05-20
Packaged: 2017-12-12 08:58:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/809753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/myscira/pseuds/myscira
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is a 1960s AU of Wally and Artemis, set during the Vietnam War. Artemis is a hippie fighting for her rebel cause and Wally is a straight-laced young man in support of his troops. How well will these two get along, better yet, how will their views affect one another? Read on to find out...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ceasefire: Right & Wrong

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by this art piece http://murrmernator.tumblr.com/post/48093864765/i-saw-this-post-by-yeahletsgowiththatone-and-the
> 
> Which was inspired by this idea http://yeahletsgowiththatone.tumblr.com/post/47997275503/oh-duh-spittfire-if-you-dont-ship-it-let-me-know
> 
> When writing this I focused on the ideology more so than fitting the story perfectly in the time period, hope you all enjoy!
> 
> Note: I'm not a big fan of profanity, I usually cringe when I see it but it just seemed to fit with this piece so WARNING PROFANITY!
> 
> Also, please keep in mind the story is about racism and while there are "adorable" moments between Wally and Artemis they should not overshadow the point of the story.

Their meeting was one that paralleled a classic Indie film, the kind where a stranger strums the guitar and a girl throws flowers in the air as she twirls around in her sweater dress. The season would be autumn and the boy and girl would speed off on a bike with grins on their faces as an unknown song played the ending. Except, this wasn’t a movie; this was the real world of war, grit and angst. Instead of cheery bike rides people were off to fight a battle on foreign soil or use their voices to fight against it and here were these two, the epitome of youth, at odds with one another. 

The season was summer, the season of heat.

It was by chance they met, him walking down the street with a fresh box of donuts, humming a battle tune, and she was holding her sign up shouting the anthem of her rebel cause. The sky was blue, the clouds were picturesque and the bird flew over the Sun. 

“Hey, watch it!” he shouted as the young lady with a raspy voice chanted her words to the degree where she’d shut her eyes to cry in utter determination for her beliefs. She hadn’t seen the redhead with fingers covered in jelly and within seconds, the two had collided onto the ground. 

There was a scuffle, what with her blonde braids tangling around his neck and his arms trying to pull himself up without accidentally touching a rather compromising part of her body.

“Hands off!” She said, a bit too harsh for a hippie. Artemis Crock, anti-war protestor, already despised the kid by the very fact he were ironed khakis and a blue-checkered shirt. Wally in turn wasn’t exactly thrilled with her either, ripped jeans, floral tank top, long ass hair that smelled like pine trees all surmised to the typical hippie. What did strike him though was her tone of voice, rather than speaking in a high-pitched saccharin voice, she spoke with ferocity similar to what he might expect from a general. Despite all her oddity, he wasn’t a fan of hippies or their cause thus he wasn’t feeling too peachy with the situation.

Regardless of how he felt toward the doves and their movement, he still considered himself a gentleman and offered to help her up, that is after she’d untangled herself form his own body. Of course she snapped his hand away.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to anger a flower child, wouldn’t want to be beaten with petals and bubbles of love.” Wally said sarcastically. 

Artemis growled, her eyes were like two moons ready to plummet into his green ones as if her look were some sort of a cataclysmic attack that would kill him on the spot. She could tell by the way he looked, clean and sharp, that he was a soldier boy, a hawk that had no sense of the real world.

Artemis looked to her fellow protesters, wondering if they’d jump in or not. Not one had looked toward the scuffle, they all continued to chant, “Make love, not war!” 

It angered her slightly, the fact that her comrades weren’t as interested as she was in putting this kid in his place, then again she’d also been known to be more violent… 

“You know the war isn’t about causing problems, it’s about ending them.” Wally said, his eyes were toward the crowd of protesters. He’d always felt the hippies oversimplified the war. In their eyes, singing campfire songs and excessive hugging could solve all the world’s problems. He knew the truth of the matter, war was ugly but sometimes it was necessary to ensure peace. Ironic? Yes, but not any less valid.

“Don’t tell me you actually believe in this patriotic propaganda.” Artemis said with a roll of her eyes. Every second that passed, she hated him more. Boys like him were always eager to get their hands on a gun without fully understanding the weight of it. It wasn’t just a piece of metal to Artemis; it was murder in the form of steel and bullets. Worse yet, she had seen the damage it could cause with her father being a gun dealer in the south side of the city after returning from the war with bullet in his foot. She’d heard the sound of a gun going off, she’d seen the pain it could inflict and she didn’t want any part of it.  
“Yes actually,” Wally turned on his toes to stare down the petite woman glaring at him with her arms crossed as she waited for him to finish his answer, “I believe in fighting for my country.” Artemis scoffed at his last word, “Country.”  
She knew all too well that the United States prided itself in equality and yet she had had not gone through one day for as long as her memory would allow her to recall without a racist comment about her ethnicity. She was a “half-breed,” she was “squinty eyed,” a “Viet-Coon” or whatever other racial slur the idiots of the world came up with. It was her country too, so why, she asked herself, did she feel like the outsider?  
“Maybe you missed the memo, man, but the war isn’t in your country. It’s not even on this continent.”  
"That’s not the point! It not about where, it’s about what we stand for, about freedom-“  
“Don’t talk to me about freedom!’ She snapped. She didn’t want to hear his baseless lecture, it was clear he lacked the facts and there was no way in hell she was going to indulge him further.  
Wally sighed, a sigh that was a bit uncharacteristic of him as he was never one to back down from a fight and yet he couldn’t help but feel the need to give the girl some leeway in the matter. She wasn’t like the rest of the tree huggers; she had some spunk in her that he could admire. It almost made up for the fact that he hated everything she stood for.  
“What’s your problem, huh?” He couldn’t help but ask.  
Artemis ignored him and picked up her sign. She started to walk back into the crowd, her jaw clenched and her fists tightened.  
Wally crossed his arms and for some reason, one surely not of logic, he’d gone after her, working his way into the crowd that smelled of marijuana, sweat and hemp.  
“So what are you, anyway,’ he says after a while. Chinese?” No answer. He could almost feel her anger grow as her shoulders straightened. Her sign looked more like a weapon than a tool of protest just at that moment.  
He shivered.  
“Japanese?” He didn’t know when to quit.  
Artemis turned violently and looked right at him, eyes glossed over with a frost that scared him, he couldn’t move.  
“No,” she hissed, and he swears, just for a moment, he hears her voice tremble, “I’m Vietnamese.”  
The silence that followed was one of the most eerie silences a human mind could fathom. It was a silence that came out of a divide in the root beliefs that made one human, the ideals of right and wrong, coated with a idiotic mistake made from ignorance. 

Part of him wanted to apologize, just to prove he wasn’t the ass he’d made himself out to be. He wasn’t a bad guy; he knew it and it irked him to think she thought of him as some racist son of a bitch. At the same time, he could barely make a sound, he didn’t want to let the apology outweigh the fact that he believed he was right and she was wrong.

Right and wrong, it was almost as if they were personifying the two words, and each believed they were the right.

He didn’t have much time to think about what to say next, just as soon as he’d come to meet the young lady with venom in her words and ice in her eyes, he soon found himself running down the street with her as the police chased after the protesters. It was chaos with signs being thrown about, people screaming, and a minute later he was on the ground choking for air, his eyes burning. His cheeks were wet…

Tear gas.

Wally made out her figure in the blur of bodies speeding by him; her hand reached toward him with her other hand over her nose and mouth. He tried to grab it but then…

Everything was darkness.

…  
Just as luck would have it, Wally West, the Science nerd of the school, resident jokester without a single mark on his record, found himself next to a double offender in a prison cell.

Artemis had taken off her shoes, she’d been using them to hit against the bars to make some noise, as if her voice wasn’t loud enough.

“THIS IS AN INJUSTICE MAN!” She shouted, as her leg kicked the bars, he was sure she’d pull back in pain but she didn’t even flinch.

“I don’t think they care.” Wally said. Once again, he’d found himself smirking. It wasn’t so much the spectacle she created with her huff and puff that he found entertaining so much as it was utter resolve to break out of the prison with only a pair of flip flops.

“That’s my point.” Artemis said; she smiled at him. She hadn’t smiled because she thought he’d said something clever, or because his freckles were endearing, which for some reason was a thought that kept repeating itself in her mind, but because she’d cornered him into her way of thinking.

“So were back to politics?” Wally rubbed his eyes. He was locked in a cell with a person who couldn’t be more different then himself. It was going to be a long day.

“I think we left off on you being racist, but since everything is politics,” She banged the bar again with her shoe, “Then sure, we’re back to politics.” 

Wally swallowed hard. She looked smaller, and more worn than earlier. It was odd to see her tanned, olive skin against the gray bars and black floor; she looked out of place and yet somehow faded in the scene, like an old painting. He almost felt…

“I’m…sorry.” He mumbled.

“What was that, don’t think your own brain cells heard you, or are those with your morality that fell down the crap hole.” 

“Look, just because we don’t see eye to eye doesn’t mean you can go all-” 

“Let me stop you right there.” Artemis closed her eyes. She could almost smell the herbs and spices her mother grew in their backyard, like a home she would never know, the memory that haunted her without ever being her own. She could just barely hear the teasing of her schoolmates. They always made fun of her because her family grew their food rather than bought it at a store like a normal American family. Memories of her sister stealing brand named cookies and the like were vivid in her mind. She remembered all the nights of searching for any fertile land in lawns and parking lots to grow crops so that her family wouldn’t starve. Artemis never had the luxury of sipping ice tea while her mother garnered, she was in the soil digging through roots, sometimes it even felt like she was digging her own grave. 

Artemis held all her memories in and then let out a breath. 

“There’s more in the world than you realize.” She bit her lip as her eyes flickered, she could feel the nostalgic tears coming; she had to fight the memory of her father leaving and the squeaks of her mother’s wheelchair. She didn’t want to think about it, she wanted to forget.

Wally watched her carefully, debating on whether or not to take her long pause as a conclusion or just that, a pause in between her thoughts. The way her face softened made him choose the latter.

“There are those that see the world as black and white, associating them with the latter color because that’s always been the color of this nation, white. White is pure, white is justice, white is right.” She folded her arms, her mind attempted to connect the pieces of various eloquent phrases that would somehow make her argument sound more valid. It wasn’t an easy task, what with all the foul language brewing on her tongue and swimming in the salvia that hung on her teeth. She wasn’t a sophisticated speaker; she swore like a sailor and never apologized for it. But now, now she wanted to make her words sound mature.

“But I’m not white.” Wally watched her face harden as she said those four words. He couldn’t help but look at his own skin. His was a pinkish white, from head to toe; he was the image he saw when he closed his eyes and thought “American.”

“I know what you’re thinking.” She said with a slight malice in her voice, only slight. It was as if she was trying to curb the venom in her words in favor of kindness, but for what reason he wasn’t sure, heck she wasn’t so sure either.

“You do?” 

“You looked at your arm, your skin. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out what you’re thinking.” Wally glared at her.

“I meant that as a compliment,” She opened her eyes and moved closer to him, her shoulders pulled back like a feline, “it means you’re listening.” 

Wally put his back against the wall and watched her closely as she shuffled her feet and pulled her hair back from her face. She had scars on her chin, neck and arms. He’d never seen war before, not one battle or a soldier ravaged by it, but for some reason he felt it in her. It was as if she’d walked through fire and bullets with a stone cold face and here she was in a gray cell with her head still held high.

Gray.

“I get what you’re saying,” He pulled his shoulder back to gain some confidence, “You’re not white, you’re not black, you’re… you’re kinda like that shade of gray politicians talk about.” He tried to sound nonchalant about it, and secretly crossed his fingers in hopes she wouldn’t ask him for specifics because he was half ass-ing his explanation. In fact… he was really just trying to impress her by sounding like some well-versed college kid, instead of the 16 year old with so very little experience in the world. He felt pressure to appear intelligent so he threw in a word that made him sound smart, “politician” and with her being a hippie he thought it would somehow make sense to her even if it didn’t really make sense to him.

She had such wise eyes; it left him flustered, confused and with a desperate need to better himself. Being at a loss like he was now took him out of his comfort zone and he wasn’t sure if he liked that.

“That’s not the point,” She said with a huff, her eyes had moved to the bars blocking her exit. Outside were officers moving about with their clipboards and guns, ignoring her presence, the protester, and Wally the straight laced young man. Part of her wondered why they had taken Wally at all, surely they’d give the white boy a break… wrong place, wrong time.

But never the Vietnamese girl, not in this decade.

“What’s the point? To piss off the government so much they arrest you and you end up spending a night in jail?” He couldn’t stop himself from baiting her; he wanted her to say it, to fall into his trap. He knew she was smart, but the way her muscles twitched told him she had flames spreading through her veins.

“The point is to fight in what you believe in, to fight for what’s right, there are people out there that need someone to stick by them and tell the bullies to back the hell off!” She nearly spat.

Wally smiled.

“So, what if the fight is for freedom?”

“It is about freedom!” She jumped, her arms were flailing, her long blonde hair flipped across her shoulder, revealing more scars that traced along her dark skin.

“Exactly, it is about freedom. And who better to give that freedom then the epitome of it, America.” Wally moved towards her, his hands folded over his chest as a sign of defiance and also pleasure, he’d bested her, or so he’d thought.

Artemis’ mouth opened to growl. She pushed her hair back and shook her head so vehemently she began to feel dizzy. The two started to circle each other like prey, Wally playing the victor.

“Don’t give me that crap, what this country does isn’t freedom. They pressure everyone to follow their rules, the actual people don’t get a say.” 

“And how the hell would you know!” Wally said, “You sit on your pedestal as some hippie flower child that preaches peace but you don’t give a damn about our soldiers dying to save people we don’t even know. You want to hate on our troops, you want to accuse them just because they follow orders, and damn good orders made to protect people. You’re a freaking hypocrite.” Wally’s face had gone red as the blood rose to his cheeks; his eyes were covered in veins as if the air had been sucked out of him. He knew in two years time he’d be old enough to fight in war and when that time came he’d see first hand the people who needed him, then he could really tell her how wrong she was.

“You’re an ignorant ass,” her voice trembled again. She paused for a moment to get her thoughts in order. At the moment, her mind was a mess. It was a flurry of her mother’s tears, her father’s yelling and the face of a Vietnamese man pointing a gun at one of his own. She swallowed hard as the harsh reality seeped into her heart and lungs. “You have no idea what the world is like. To you, war is glorified.”

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me, you see war as some coming of age, some romanticized adventure but you don’t know shit.” 

Wally opened his mouth to defend himself; he stopped when she stepped so close he could feel her breath on his face.

“They say the world is black and white but the flags aren’t, they’ve got plenty of colors, plenty of forms. And through those flags we’ve got the real racism, the real superiority, the true colors of every nation that flies them. America preaches the dream but my people are living in poverty, and their families are being shot.” 

She grabbed his shoulders and pushed her fingers down to feel the bone, she watched as his eyes widened and his mouth dropped.

“You feel the weight of the world on you yet? Because that’s what you have, we’re the kids that have the power to make change, to wave those signs and scream our lungs out.” She put her mouth to his ear, and with every ounce of pain she’d felt from the beatings her father used to give her to the starvation of going days without eating, she whispered, “do you feel the world yet?”

He could smell foreign spices in her hair and past her head, past the touch and feel of her body were the bars of the cell. People hustled about, conversing about the war, cursing the protestors, laughing at inside jokes, babbling about sports stats. It was something he’d expect from the police station, people being people but now he saw something he hadn’t before. He saw they were all white, white men and their only variations were height.

Why hadn’t he ever noticed that before?

“I didn’t mean…” He pulled away from her and rubbed his hands over his eyes. She was making him question himself and he didn’t like it. He believed in freedom, he believed in duty, he believed in honor. Those were the components that his home, this nation, was founded on.

“I believe in this country.” He said quietly.

She suppressed a smirk, everything in her told her to come up with a snarky comeback. 

She couldn’t resist her nature.

“You believe in propaganda and brainwashing.” She turned quickly, not wanting to look at his face a moment longer. He grabbed her arm and turned her back to face him, to look into her eyes, from the naïve green of his to her cold gray.

“You can’t stand there and tell me all that you believe in and then put down my own beliefs. I get it, life has been crappy to you, and you…you have a good point. I’m a man, I can admit that,” His eyed closed to add momentum to his speech. He had no words but he had emotions, he had feelings. There was something cathartic whenever he looked at the American flag, the same thing happened whenever he saw pictures of soldiers. He couldn’t accept the fact that the deaths of thousands all equated to absolutely nothing.

“The guys out there are fighting, fighting for a belief.”

“A corrupt one.” She said sharply, she could feel her own body weaken as his voice lowered and his eyes grew tense. She didn’t want him to have the upper hand.

“It’s what’s founded every nation, the will of the people to change society. That’s what revolution is, the people fighting back for what they think is right. And here in America… in America we have people fighting for the right to have that revolution, to choose their fate. It’s not about being the bully, it’s not about having more power, it’s about being a damn human being and giving a shit about other human beings.”

She stepped back, farther and farther until her body hit the cell bars behind her. He took notice of the way she moved. She seemed unsure and yet somehow determined. She didn’t want to give up the fight but she was wavering. Behind her he saw the officers and his mind rattled with his new realization, the color of the law versus the color of the people of America.

“Maybe…maybe that’s not how the government sees it but that’s how I see it. I want to believe there are good people who genuinely want to help others, what’s so wrong with that?” 

She turned her head to the left, her cheek pressed against the steel bar as she eyed the officers. Some gave her dirty looks, others laughed. They’d put her in this cell for disturbing the peace, she was the only one caught… all because she stopped to help the klutzy redhead. 

Why had she done that?

“Maybe.” She whispered.

Her eyes closed again and this time she saw the smoke, she heard the screams of her fellow protestors and from a few feet away, she’d spotted the stupid boy fall over. She felt the need to help him; it was just… a human instinct.

“Wally West?” One of the men in blue appeared by the cell door, he had a clipboard and a pen, his eyes shifted from Artemis to Wally.

“Yes, that’s me.” Wally answered; he wasn’t exactly pleased by the look the officer was giving Artemis, as if she was less than human.

“You’re free to go.” The officer said, he opened the door and gestured for Wally to exit.

“What about me?” Artemis said, the quietness from Wally’s last words fading. 

“Criminals don’t get released.” The officer said with petulance in his voice, he enjoyed letting Artemis know she wouldn’t be getting out any time soon.

“I didn’t do anything wrong! You arrogant little ass, you think that badge makes you special, you think you can pass judgment on me!” She moved to grab the officer who was ready, gun in hand, to strike her down. Wally intervened between the two; he looked from Artemis who was seething, to the officer that would take any excuse to hit her.

“Officer, what’s her bail?” Wally didn’t have a dime to his name but he did have two loving parents, and with some classic West charm he hoped to get her out of this whole mess, after all she did attempt to save him from being trampled.

“Her kind don’t get bail.” 

“My kind?” Artemis asked slowly.

“Dinks.”

“Excuse me.” Wally and Artemis had said it in unison. It took her a moment to realize that Wally was just as appalled by the officer’s slur as she was, and that made her smile in the stupidest way.

“Look kid, either you get out now or you spend the night in the cell with her, your choice.”

“I choose to stay.” Wally had never sounded more serious in his entire life. All he could think about was punching the officer for what he’d said to her, it was disgusting, it was pathetic and it left him shaking. He could feel his body get heavier as he thought about the situation at hand; all these years and he didn't even realize that in his picturesque life with a white fence and apple pie... he never realized people were being given hell because of the color of their skin. 

The officer shrugged his shoulders and walked out, completely unaware of how his words had affected Wally.

Moments later, the cell door was closed and Artemis found herself wanting to kiss the boy that had spent the day annoying her. Instead she stood next to him in silence, both with their arms crossed, both with awkward stances. Minutes passed before Artemis’ nerves got the best of her and she punched his shoulder.

“What was that for!” Wally whimpered as he rubbed his arm, the punch actually hurt like hell.

“It was a thank you, don’t be a wuss… Wallace…” Artemis said as she took a seat, crossed her legs and put her hands on her knees.

“You can call me Wally.” He said, resisting a smile.

“You’re name’s really Wally huh?” She said almost cruelly and he sighed.

“You’re the meanest peace loving hippie I’ve ever met.”

“Yeah and you’re not so straight laced, talking back to an officer and all.” She smirked as Wally took a seat next to her. His feet were parted perfectly and his back was straight.

“You must be a bad influence on me, um…”

“Artemis.” She said, having realized for the first time that not only had she just learned his name but also that she had never introduced herself, not that she would have earlier.

“Artemis, you’re a bad influence.” Wally repeated, he could almost feel himself succumbing to her smile; it was mischievous and oddly…sweet.

“Well don’t get too influenced, before you know it you’ll be wearing the garb of a protester, hoarse voice and bellbottom jeans, a regular hippie.” She touched his shoulder lightly. The intention was to hit him again but she slowed down to smile and ended up rubbing the inevitable bruise instead.

“Well, I think we could be good for each other,” He laughed awkwardly as she turned her head to question his statement, “I mean as friends! I mean, because we have different views, we learn more… because we come from different places and-”

“Quit while you’re ahead.” Artemis said shaking her head. He was cute when he stumbled over his words.

Wally nodded his head and tapped his knees, counting each beat and adding them up by multiples. He wanted to do anything to distract him from her, although it was hard to do so entirely since she had caused a paradigm shift in his worldview. He could only hope he’d done the same for her.

“You know, jokes aside… I’m sorry.” Wally did his best to sound as sincere as he could.

“Sorry for being an ass? Forgiven. I’m… sorry to.” She looked away when she said it; apologies weren’t her forte but given that he’d stood up for her and adding the fact that he barely knew her was more than enough for her to force one out.

“Actually, I meant sorry for this… the way…” He could barely form the sentence. All he could think about was how in the world was he supposed to apologize for every racist thing she’d ever experienced, all because she was a bit different in appearance, all because she wasn’t white.

“I’m sorry for how you’ve been treated, you don’t deserve it, no one does.” Wally folded his hands on his lap and looked at his shoes. They were in pristine condition, perfectly white. He couldn’t help but see it as a reflection of his own privilege. 

Artemis put her hand over his, “The fact that you get it,” Wally looked up to see her face as she spoke, she had such a tired, broken expression that made him feel weak in the worst possible way, “…means a lot more than you’ll ever know.”

It was the first time she’d felt vulnerable in years. 

All her life she'd been the daughter of a man dishonorably discharged from the military, a man who broke the law daily and at his side a wife who went along with everything he said. It wasn't until her mother lost her legs that the woman finally took a stand and that was not a path Artemis wanted to take. She was a half breed lower than everyone else but she was also the shamed daughter of an ex-army man. Her skin would never allow her to embrace the white in her, not that she wanted to what with her father being the man he was, but to embrace the Vietnamese in her meant facing the fact that she was different, that she would never be accepted in this world that was supposed to be her home. It meant admitting defeat, this was the first time where she felt like there was a loophole and it was all because of Wally. 

“And… and you’re right, I should care about the soldiers… they’re good guys too… in theory.” Wally chuckled; he could tell she was having a hard time admitting he was right, at least to some degree. He liked that she was trying, he liked her. 

“I appreciate your attempt at civility… Artemis, you’re a spiffy gal.” Artemis rolled her eyes, he sounded like a complete dork and yet one that seemed to care about her enough to stick with her, which was more than she could say for most of the people in her life. Hell, even her fellow protestors hadn’t stuck around for her. 

“Oh, what the hell.” Artemis reached up and grabbed the collar of his shirt and pulled his lips to hers, with no reservations or a care in the world she kissed him passionately and with vigor. She knew he wouldn’t care that a Vietnamese girl “dared” to touch the lips of a boy like him, and that’s why she wanted to do it. 

When she pulled back she saw the shocked expression on his face and laughed.

“Does that mean….” He took a moment to breathe, “You really do agree about duty, and freedom and all that jazz? Or was I just to handsome to resist?” Wally said, his lips moving to a comical smolder.

“I will punch you in the face if you look at me like that again.”

“But…”

“But yeah, maybe…I see you’re way of thinking.” He nudged her shoulder as if to say I told you so.

“Stop.”

“You like me.” Wally said teasingly. Artemis was about to object and claim the kiss was solely for the need of spontaneity but she paused, there was truth to his ridiculousness, she did like him… to an extent.

“I like the fact that you listened, I like that fact that you may have more sense than most people I know…”

“And you like me because I’m some hot stuff.” Artemis turned swiftly and kicked Wally’s right side so hard that he fell off the bench and landed flat on his face. 

He stood up quickly and wiped his clothes. He didn’t mind the pain as much as he should have. 

Maybe it was the fact that he was coming to really, really like this girl, or maybe because she’d given him something special, a different way of thinking, or maybe because despite all her pigheadedness, and his own, they’d come to an understanding… whatever it was he liked her company and she enjoyed his. It was another ten minutes before either of them spoke what with Wally smiling, absolutely pleased with himself, and Artemis in deep thought. As sweet as the moment had been, she couldn't let go of the fact that reality was filled with bitterness and pain but Wally, Wally West was defying it. She felt like she owed him more but words couldn't come to pass. A random young man, carrying way too much food for him alone to eat, happens to stumble upon her causing them both to fall over. Rather than telling her it was her fault, rather than calling her names, as she would expect, he surprised her. Yes, he irritated her but not because of any racial slur or superiority complex but because of her own personality. He was bothered by who she was, not her ethnicity, not her race, but just by the circumstances in which she came to form who she was. In an odd way, it was the best thing that could have happened to her. Even better yet, he'd come to be a friend despite not initially liking her, again having nothing to do with the color of her skin or the shape of her eyes. It was almost enough to restore her faith...or maybe even...to actually restore it. 

"Thank you Wally West." Artemis said quietly, "Thank you for treating me like a human being." 

Wally nodded slowly, taking in each word she said with great meaning. Although he knew little about her, and she about him, he was grateful he had met her. Without her he may not have been a racist but he would have been the bystander to the injustice without knowing it and that meant a lot more to him than he ever thought it would.

In a way, the two had done something that most politicians in the world had failed to do, they had come to a ceasefire, better yet, they’d come to a peace treaty of sorts. Instead of fighting over who was right, they realized they both had validity and that made all the difference. And just like that, two unlikely strangers from two completely different ends of ideology spiked a friendship, perhaps a romance but something certainly far more than any theatric one could find in a movie. It was real, it was human, and it was special.


End file.
